


With Friends Like These...

by KivaEmber



Series: Wine Cellar [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Crack and Angst, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Gen, M/M, Mostly about crazy adventurer friends, Pre-Slash, Pre-Stormblood, and Thancred being a bro, it started off serious then got super cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 22:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12567752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: You sit on a Cactuar once and no one let's you forget it. Also everyone realises that the Warrior of Light really needs therapy, holy shit.





	With Friends Like These...

“Aza’s upset.”

 

Crisp’s voice drew Papaya’s attention from the dragonskin map he was studying, glancing first at the Conjurer and then towards Aza. From his cursory glance, their friend was aggressively carving intricate patterns into an apple on his solitary table in The Forgotten Knight’s corner. He drew in a sharp breath.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” Crisp lifted her flagon and took a deep pull of it. The female Roe always seemed to treat alcohol as water, and to date no one in their motley group of adventurers had managed to drink her under the table, a fact that she was consistently smug about in the morning after. She also freakishly didn’t have hangovers, which made Papaya certain she was cheating with her white magic somehow.

 

“Are you going to investigate?” Papaya asked after an awkward moment of him watching her simply gulp down her alcoholic swill.

 

“Me? Nah,” she scoffed, licking her lips as she set the flagon down, “I heal bodies, not bruised feelings. That’s more your thing, right?”

 

“I’m the tank,” Papaya said dryly, “Not a position that encourages empathy.”

 

“Sure it does,” Crisp returned, “You empathise that getting punched across the room by whatever monster of the week hurts, hence why you take it on the chin for the rest of us.”

 

Papaya stared at her and Crisp just took a smug sip of her drink without breaking eye contact. He wouldn’t win. Crisp had the unnatural talent of not needing to blink, and already he could feel his eyes start to water. He screwed his face up in an attempt not to blink, probably looking heavily constipated in the process.

 

“Just get over there, you stupid Lalafell,” Crisp said at last, dipping her fingers into the remains of her drink and flicking them at him. He flinched away from the beer droplets. “He’s making me nervous that he’s going to cut his fingers off at this rate.”

 

Papaya heaved a sigh but did as he was told, sliding off of his stool and abandoning his map to Crisp’s tender mercies.

 

When he trotted over to Aza’s table and hopped onto his new stool, he could see the situation was dire indeed. Three apples had carvings so intricate he could see these selling like hotcakes at Ul’dah’s bazaar. Truly, Aza’s true calling must be in the peaceful life of carving and baking, not breaking his heart over the cold politics of Eorzea and Ishgard.

 

“What’s eating you?” Papaya said after a long moment of Aza not acknowledging his presence.

 

“Did Crisp send you over?” Aza said, setting the apple and knife down. His fingers were unmarked, Papaya was pleased to see, so he directed his gaze upwards to Aza’s face instead.

 

“Yeah, she was nervous about finger chopping.”

 

As one, he and Aza turned their gaze over to Crisp. She was sitting back and openly watching them – she even waved when she caught their gaze.

 

“Well,” Aza muttered, waggling his fingers back at the Conjurer in return, “As you can see, I still have them.”

 

Papaya just stared at him. Aza did not dead-eye stare him back as he would usually do (because he knew it creeped Papaya out). Instead he picked up his carved apples and set them in a neat row in front of Papaya, as if for inspection, and then picked up an unmarred one, the knife, and began carving that anew.

 

“So, what do you think? Nice?” Aza asked, his tone carefully idle.

 

“Bloody fantastic,” Papaya said, knowing that he was settling in for the long term. He raised a hand to Gribillont with two fingers raised, and the barman gave him a nod of acknowledgement. A bit of alcohol normally served to loosen Aza’s tongue.

 

“Thanks,” Aza smiled, brightening his otherwise tired face, “I’ve been practicing a lot recently.”

 

“Any reason why?”

 

“Well, mm…” Aza’s smile turned wry, “I just like being good at something not related to… fighting, I guess. I mean, I love adventuring, but I also want moments where I can sit down and make something with my hands, instead of destroying.”

 

“I thought that’s why you cooked?” Papaya frowned, a little taken aback by Aza’s words. Normally it took five flagons before he started spouting that kind of stuff.

 

“I’ve gone off cooking recently,” Aza said. He set the half-carved apple and knife down, his gaze shifting to somewhere off the edge of the table, “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel as satisfying as it used to.”

 

Mildly troubling, Papaya thought. Aza had a passion for cooking that was matched only by his love for adventuring, so for him to suddenly be so off it… or was it sudden? He and the others had noticed that Aza had seemed less and less enthused by the adventuring life after that mess with Hau- the Vault.

 

“Okay,” Papaya said, “That happens, I guess. You fall out of love with things.”

 

Aza’s grip tightened on the knife handle, “Yeah.”

 

Gribillont chose that moment to interrupt with two new flagons and Papaya murmured some thanks. He waited until the Elezan was out of earshot before speaking up.

 

“So, is that what’s eating you? Dimming passion?”

 

Aza sighed heavily, setting everything down and leaning forwards with his elbows on the edge of the table, his face in his hands. “Yes- no. I don’t know. I’m just...”

 

“Tired of this shit?” Crisp interjected, settling down in the stool between the two of them. Papaya almost leapt out of his skin, having not heard her walk up to them.

 

“Ugh,” was Aza’s eloquent response.

 

“Could be burnt out,” Papaya said, shooting Crisp a dark look. The Conjurer simply smiled and unrolled the dragonskin map in the middle of the table with one hand, the other clutching her flagon. “A lot has happened in Ishgard.”

 

“Mngh.”

 

“Becoming a fugitive, breaking Alphie out of Heathen Jail, getting balls deep in the utterly unsurprising ancient conspiracy of Ishgard,” Crisp ticked these off cheerily, “Not to mention the dramatic end to H-”

 

“ _What she means is_ -!” Papaya cut in loudly, wishing he had the leg length to kick Crisp to silence, “Is that you need a break to- to reflect and decompress. You haven’t, er, you know, had a proper rest since before the, um… the mess.”

 

“The Vault,” Aza said miserably into his hands, “You can say it. I’m not a fucking child.”

 

A silence settled – not quite awkward but edging close to it.

 

“You know,” Crisp said, her tone gentling, “We knew. About you and Haurchefant.”

 

Aza said nothing.

 

“Yeah,” Papaya said uneasily, shooting Crisp a questioning look but following her lead as she gestured in a ‘go on’, “We did. We… look, we also know about, uh, Ser Aymeric.”

 

Aza lowered his hands then and Papaya almost cringed at how haggard he looked, “Who else knows.”

 

“The whole group does,” Crisp said with her usual tactlessness, “I mean, you did tell us during one of your drunken rants.”

 

Aza closed his eyes and looked like he was contemplating just stabbing himself in the throat there and then.

 

“The Scion with the unfortunate hairstyle too, mm what’shisface…? Oh yes, Thancred,” Crisp continued, “He was present for that too. He seemed concerned _for_ you though, if that is any consolation. I believe he’s under the impression that Ser Aymeric is a convenient rebound for you.”

 

“Wonderful,” Aza muttered, opening his eyes and rubbing at his forehead, “Great. Fantastic. Thanks for telling me, Crisp.”

 

“No problem,” she said cheerily, “I just felt it’s best to go right into it, instead of puttering about the issue like a group of old hens.”

 

“The issue being…?” Papaya said, somewhat mystified how the conversation had turned.

 

“That Aza is enduring a conflict from his love of Haurchefant, and his budding feelings for Aymeric, overlayed by general exhaustion of his traumatic experiences while here in Ishgard,” Crisp sighed, “Do try to keep up, Papaya.”

 

“Whatever happened to ‘I heal bodies, not bruised feelings’?” Papaya grumbled, “You seem to be doing a lot better than me.”

 

“Look, guys,” Aza cut in, “I appreciate the fact that you’re concerned for me and all, but this is something I’m going to have to deal with myself.”

 

Papaya and Crisp turned and stared as one at Aza in open disbelief. After a few awkward moments, Aza shifted uncomfortably.

 

“Really!” he said, “Look, there’s no need to worry, I have a plan already. I’m going to ignore my infatuation towards Aymeric and take a three day break in Costa de Sol after the Nidstinien problem is sorted out. I’ll be fine and back to normal in no time.”

 

“You mean, ‘I’m going to suppress my feelings where they can fester quietly into a mental breakdown waiting to happen because I need to be the perfect Warrior of Light for the ungrateful masses’?” Papaya said flatly.

 

“I’m _not_ suppressing-!” Aza snapped his mouth shut, the flash of anger that crossed his face vanishing as quickly as it appeared, “I’m not suppressing anything.”

 

“You did it just then,” Crisp pointed out.

 

“No.”

 

“Yes,” Papaya said, “Ignoring this isn’t going to help you, Aza.”

 

Aza looked like he was going to protest – which would be good! Truly. Papaya wouldn’t mind if Aza exploded into a petulant temper tantrum, so long as he actually _vented_ his feelings like a normal person. Instead his friend swallowed down whatever it was he was going to say, picked up the knife and apple, and continued his carving, openly ignoring them.

 

Crisp sighed heavily, looking very much like she wanted nothing more than to whack Aza upside the head with her staff, “Our hero, everyone. Someone with the emotional maturity of a ten year old brat.”

 

Aza’s ears flicked backwards, but he determinedly continued his cold shoulder.

 

“Maybe you should stop caring about how people think you should be feeling or acting,” Papaya said wryly, “Just a suggestion.”

 

“Easy for you to say,” Aza finally snapped, jabbing his knife in Papaya’s direction, “After our misadventures you can fuck off out of the limelight and not have to worry about how people see you. I’m the Warrior of Light. I _have_ to be not- not weird. Infallible.”

 

“I don’t see how it’s _your_ problem if people get disappointed at you for not meeting their stupid expectations,” Crisp said, “If they place you on a pedestal, and then realise you’re just a strange, odd man in reality, then whatever. Who cares?”

 

“ _I_ care,” Aza said in open frustration, “Okay? _I care_. Because their expectations is me flawlessly defeating any foe, solving any problem, saving this Godsdamned- piece of shit- _world.”_

 

“Well,” Crisp said, unruffled in the face of Aza’s uncharacteristic – but oddly welcome – show of anger, “Maybe you just need to learn to say ‘no’. I mean, no offence, but quite a lot of stuff they tell you to do they can solve themselves. You’re not helping by letting them use you as their personal Weapon of Light.”

 

“Crisp,” Papaya said sharply.

 

“Oh, you know it’s true,” Crisp sighed, “That was my main beef with Alphie before the Crystal Braves mess, y’know? He viewed Aza as a useful tool, something to brandish about in his game of politics – thank the Gods he got a clue. Who knew betrayal and becoming an international fugitive would help someone’s personal growth so much?”

 

“Weapon of Light?” Aza said, his expression odd, “What do you…”

 

“Well, that’s what you’re being reduced to, right?” Crisp said, “Weapon of Light, Warrior of Light, it’s the same thing at the end of the day, isn’t it? Not so much nowadays, since the Scions are actually beginning to view you as a living, free-thinking person and not some War Mammet,” she paused, then smiled, “Which is why I approve of this Ser Aymeric thing, to be honest. That man actually looks at _you_.”

 

“Have to agree with that,” Papaya piped up, “It’s sort of weird to see you two making bedroom eyes at each other, though.”

 

“Bedroom-?! We don’t do that!” Aza blustered – then added hopefully, “…does he really make bedroom eyes at me?”

 

“Sometimes I feel compelled to cover Alphie’s precious, virgin eyes from it,” Crisp said with a grin, “It’s really obvious. Probably why you haven’t noticed, what with your awareness being like that of a stump’s.”

 

“Rude. I’m very observant,” Aza sniffed.

 

Crisp met his gaze and simply said; “Cactuar.”

 

Aza’s expression became stony, “You swore you would never repeat that story.”

 

“What? Cactuar?” Papaya parroted.

 

Crisp’s lips quirked upwards and Aza pointed his knife threateningly at her nose; “Not a _word_ , Crisp. I swear I will fucking shank you if you say anything.”

 

“Aza…” the Roe drew out, “Once sat on a-”

 

Aza threw his apple at her head.

 

“No,” Papaya breathed, “No, you _didn’t_.”

 

“I was tired and it was dark!” Aza shouted, banging the handle of his knife on the table, “What the hell? I’m a Sun Cat not a Moon Cat! How was I supposed to know?!”

 

“I have never heard anyone scream so shrilly in my life,” Crisp cackled, not caring about the cut up apple on her lap, oozing juice over her trousers, “He leapt five feet into the air, this cactuar stuck to his ass-”

 

“It wasn’t _stuck to my ass_!” Aza shrieked, “It came off!”

 

Crisp’s laughter began to gain a wheezing edge.

 

“It did!” Aza insisted, his face now burning a bright, brilliant red, seemingly aware that the entirety of the Forgotten Knight was now staring at them, “It was only stuck for two seconds! It came off and it was fine!”

 

“Two minutes!” Crisp howled, equally bright red with tears of mirth clinging to her eyelashes, “Stuck for two minutes! I had to pull it off you!”

 

 “Where was I when this happened?” Papaya demanded, genuinely put out that he had missed such a spectacle, “Wait, where was _Bluebird_? She never would’ve sat on this!”

 

“This was when you two were stuck in that Amal’ja latrine,” Aza grumbled, hunching down as if contemplating crawling under the table, “Me and Crisp were hunting for a shovel.”

 

Oh yeah, now it was coming back to him. He thought Aza had been limping a little after that little _incident_ , but had been more occupied with the fact that he and Bluebird had been waist deep in Amal’ja shit to question it much.

 

“Damn,” Papaya let the silence draw out with only Crisp’s gasping giggles filling it up, “So… did it, y’know…?”

 

Aza stared at him, dead-eyed, “Did it what, Papaya.”

 

“Penetrate-”

 

“I swear to the fucking Twelve!” Aza stood up as Crisp started laughing all over again, the Roe bent over double, slapping at her knee, “You pair of- lies and slanders, the both of you! I’m not gonna stand here and take this!”

 

“N-No, you sit down and take a Cactuar up the ass instead!” Crisp cackled, lifting an arm up weakly to defend herself as Aza made a jabbing motion at her with his knife.

 

“I WILL SHANK YOU, CRISP!”

 

* * *

 

“So…” Thancred said when he found Aza an hour later buried in one of the Brume’s snowdrifts, “May I ask why you’re under suspicion for attempted murder?”

 

“Crisp started it,” Aza grumbled from under the pile of snow, not looking at all discomforted, “She told the Cactuar story.”

 

“Oh, the one where you sat on it?” Thancred didn’t bother hiding a smile at Aza’s open look of displeasure, “Sorry, Aza, but she told everyone the day after it happened.”

 

“Okay. That’s it. I’m staying here until I die of hypothermia.”

 

“You are not hiding in a snowdrift until you die,” Thancred tutted, leaning down and beginning the arduous process of dragging out a stubborn, uncooperative Miqo’te, “C’mon, out you ge- _ow!_ Mind the teeth!”

 

Aza glowered but he did stop biting Thancred’s hand long enough for him to be hauled out. He was wet, covered in snow and smelling very strongly of cheap ale – never mind he looked thoroughly and utterly exhausted.

 

“There we go, much better,” Thancred said, brushing a clump of snow off Aza’s shoulder. “I think a bath is in order, though. You smell like an abused pub floor.”

 

“Thanks, Thancred,” Aza said sourly, the stubborn set to his jaw saying he was well and truly deep in a sulk.

 

“Come now, don’t pull such an unhappy face,” Thancred said gently, letting his hand stay on the Miqo’te’s shoulder, “A nice, long soak in a hot bath will do wonders for your mood.”

 

“A hot bath doesn’t solve everything,” Aza muttered, but he let Thancred steer him away from his snowdrift and through the narrow, cramped paths of the Brume. “And I’m not in a bad mood,” he added lamely.

 

“Mmhm, of course not,” Thancred smiled, “There must be some other reason why you chased your adventurer friend around the Forgotten Knight, knife in hand, screaming how you were going to ‘make Roe fillet’.”

 

Aza was quiet for a very long moment.

 

“…In my defence,” he began, somewhat sheepishly, “Crisp started it.”

 

“You’ve said,” Thancred said.

 

“She’s very annoying.”

 

“Right.”

 

“She told the Cactuar story in _public_.”

 

“And on numerous other occasions.”

 

“ _And_ she was psychoanalysing me,” Aza finished, “No one psychoanalyses me. That’s just asking for trouble.”

 

“Because we all know your mind is a rabbit hole of suppressed mental breakdowns waiting to happen,” Thancred said wryly, patting Aza’s shoulder, “The longer we put _that_ off, the better.”

 

“Right?” Aza looked relieved, “You get it.”

 

Thancred merely glanced upwards, as if asking for divine strength, but didn’t comment any further on it.

 

“I must be pretty bad recently though, at hiding it,” Aza continued, biting his bottom lip briefly, “If Papaya was asking about it. Guess I need to practice my poker face more…”

 

“Point… Aza…” Thancred muttered under his breath, “You have recently suffered from a series of… unpleasant events. It’s understandable that your strain will be obvious. You are only mortal.”

 

Aza looked doubtful, and Thancred couldn’t help but feel concerned. Sometimes he felt that they were pushing him too hard and fast, even with the nastiness of Ul’dah concluded with a happy ending. Aza looked perpetually tired and strained, even moreso with Haurchefant’s death. It won’t be long until even Aza’s terrifying determination would putter out if he kept storming forwards while pretending his emotions were inconsequential things to be ignored.

 

“Look,” Thancred said as they began ascending towards the Pillars, “Take a hot bath and calm down. Meditate, drink tea, kill some monsters, or whatever it is you do to relax, and then come and talk to me for a bit.”

 

“What about the ‘wanted for attempted murder’ thing?”

 

“I believe Ser Aymeric has intervened on that,” Thancred said, realising that was another thing to tackle later. Far be it for Thancred to intervene on romantic matters but, considering Aza was an emotional mess after Haurchefant’s death, he was leery of the Miqo’te getting caught up in messy rebounds. He’d have to discuss it with him, at the very least.

 

“Oh, nice. I’ll need to get him a thank you present,” Aza mused, “Maybe if I cook him his favourite meal? He did say he wanted us to have dinner at his home soon…”

 

Definitely need to discuss it with him, very soon.

 

“I’m sure he’d love it,” Thancred sighed wearily.

 

* * *

 

It was when Aza was drifting off to sleep in his room at the Fortempt’s Manor (after a very strange discussion with Thancred about relationships – he felt like his friend had been getting at something that he had utterly missed) that Bluebird finally deigned to visit him.

 

“A Cactuar?!” Bluebird yelled after leaping on top of him, having climbed through the window like the Rogue she was. The Au Ra deftly dodged a wild, panicked punch to the face and gripped his wrist, looming over him with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. “You fucked a Cactuar?!”

 

“Will you all _fuck off_ with the Cactuar story!?”

 

* * *

 

Honestly, with friends like these, who even needs emotional trauma!?

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Drinking the Wine Cellar Universe, and I think I'll write more with Aza and his crazy group of adventurers when the mood strikes me! If there's anything specific you want me to write though, just shoot me a request in the comments and I'll see what I can do.


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